


Hanging By A Moment

by VCCV



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 13:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: It's not always just yesterday's gravy and banana peels.





	Hanging By A Moment

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be a response to a request by nikkiglitz01 here It's late and wordy. I appear to be turning that into a trend. Sigh.

ARTIE

They'd been complacent. Sure, Mike and Matt no longer dumpster tossed geeks, and Puck and Finn actually protected them, but they'd forgotten a very important rule. When the leader steps down, there's always someone else ready to step up. Unfortunately, the new leadership of the Douche Crew wasn't nearly as genial as the last.

Artie and Kurt should have gone the long way around, just like every other day since they'd been in Middle School. But, when they'd said hello to complacency, they'd apparently said goodbye to common sense. There were three of them; three very huge, very pleased card-carrying members of McKinley's asshole population. 

The Gleeks exchanged worried looks, but both had learned well and often how to meet indignity with grace, so they lifted their chins and waited. "Well, hello ladies," the first one said.

Kurt snorted and crossed his arms. "With that kind of gender recognition, Barrow, perhaps the world at large won't be burdened with your offspring, after all."

Artie fought to keep the smirk off his face. Though small, Kurt Hummel was no fragile flower. He wouldn't pass up a chance to make bitchy comments, no matter whom he made them to. Unfortunately, Kurt's mouth often overrode his ass, and looking at the confused scowls on the others' faces, this was one of those times.

"Whatever, fag," Barrow growled. Equally angry sounds emanated from his companions, Doechal and Boyd. While frightening, it was simultaneously amusing to watch them crack their knuckles a la cartoon style. 

"We're giving you a choice," Barrow continued, a nasty smile appearing on his face. "You can go in." He pointed at Kurt. "Or you can go in." He moved his finger over to point at Artie. "We don't really care, but one of you gay fuckers is going in."

Kurt and Artie exchanged glances again, and Artie knew what Kurt was going to do even before he uttered the words. "Fine. Get on with it, then. You're cutting into my midday moisturizing time." 

Barrow sneered and bounced eagerly on his feet and waited for Kurt to take off his jacket and lay down his bag. It felt like continuing a family tradition long after anyone remembered why it was kept. As soon as the bag hit the ground, Barrow was on him. He and the other two jeered and laughed as they heaved Kurt up and over the dumpster lip. 

A second later, a shrill scream split the air. Oddly, the jocks looked scared at the sound; but Artie couldn't blame them. Not once in two years of High School, three years of Middle School, the formation of Glee Club or even Kurt's coming out had Kurt Hummel uttered a single sound when dumpster tossed.

Barrow stepped forward and peered down into the dumpster. His face went white and his arm shot out to grasp his closest buddy. Curious, he leaned in as well. "Oh, shit," Doechal breathed, backpedalling so fast, his shoes skidded on the asphalt. Boyd turned away from the dumpster with his hand over his mouth and his eyes pressed closed. 

Barrow looked from the dumpster to Artie. "Fuck this." He shook his head. "Let's get out of here!" The other two didn't even hesitate. 

"Wait!" Artie shouted after them. "What is it? What happened?" None of them stopped. Artie sat, helplessly watching as they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Growling in frustration, he rolled his chair right up to the dumpster. "Kurt? Kurt, what's wrong?"

Silence met Artie's query, and he was just about to call out again when, "Artie, you need to go get help," floated weakly out of the dumpster.

"What? Why?" Artie craned his neck, pointlessly trying to see something. Anything. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Artie, please." Kurt's voice broke on a sob. Terrified, Artie pulled out his phone. Alphabetically, disregarding Brittany, Finn was first on his contacts list. It took him a couple of tries to get his shaking fingers under control enough to push call.

After three rings, it went to voicemail. Artie slammed his phone down, infuriated. He wanted to scream, but in the silence, he heard a tiny whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then picked the phone up again. Screw the alphabet. He scrolled to Puck's number and hit send.

"What do you want, Wheels?" Puck answered, shortly. But at least he answered.

"Thank God!" Artie slumped in relief. "Puck, you have to come now! Please. And bring Finn. Or Matt and Mike. Bring fucking Rachel if you have to, but you have to hurry!" He steadied the phone as it slipped in his sweating hand.

"Whoa, there, Speedster. What the fuck are you talking about?" Puck sounded slightly amused.

"Please!" It was all Artie could manage as he heard a terrifying change in the sound of Kurt's breathing.

"What happened?" Puck insisted. Artie shoved his hand into his hair and gripped it harshly. 

"Your asshole buddies cornered us and threw Kurt into the dumpster."

Puck sighed. "Okay, I'll talk to them ag—."

"No! You don't understand! Something is wrong." Artie wanted punch him so badly.

"What? Talk to me, here, Wheels," Puck growled into the phone.

"I don't _know_ what's wrong!" Artie screeched. "Kurt screamed. The assholes looked in at him, and then fucking took off. Kurt won't come out of the dumpster and he's breathing really weird and he's whimpering!"

"Did he say what's wrong?" Puck finally sounded invested in the conversation and Artie unclenched his fist from his hair.

"No, he won't tell me. He just said to get help and then he started making those noises. I can't see in there because I'm in this fucking _chair_!" He slammed his fist down on his unfeeling leg, feeling utterly useless. "Please, Puck—"

"I know. It's okay. I'm coming." Puck's voice was pitched lower, a soothing note in it. "Hold on a few minutes longer, Artie. He'll be okay. _Finn_!" Artie jumped at Puck's loud bellow, but realized that Puck must have seen Finn. "C'mon, bitch! You can be pissed at me later. Kurt and Artie are in trouble!"

Then, there was only the sound of feet slapping pavement and huffs of breath. Artie held onto the phone like a lifeline, staring anxiously at the dumpster.

"There he is!" Puck yelled in his ear again, and Artie looked up to see Puck running hell bent for leather, the male half of Glee Club racing to catch up to him. Behind them, following at less of a breakneck speed, was Rachel. Puck skidded to a halt, narrowly missing Artie's chair. He glanced down shortly. "You okay?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine. Just get Kurt." But Puck was already in motion. He took the final steps to the dumpster and looked in. "Kurt? You—Fucking hell!" He started with a yell and ended with a whisper. Finn, Matt and Mike pounded up behind him.

"What is it?" Finn shouldered Puck aside so that he could see in as well. Artie watched the color drain from his face. "Sweet baby Jesus," Finn whispered, horrified. As the other two boys stepped up to see, Puck heaved himself up. He carefully lowered himself in next to Kurt.

"What?" Artie nearly screamed in frustration. Finn glanced back at him.

"He's…he's like…" He waved his hands helplessly. Thankfully, Mike was more verbose.

"He's impaled on a big-assed piece of glass," he answered Artie, moving around to the side of the dumpster. "Careful, man," he added to Puck, who just grunted and ducked out of sight.

Rachel finally caught up, gasping after the run. "What is it?" she panted. Artie just shook his head, his throat closing up with tears. Rachel didn't wait for an answer. She peered past Matt. Her eyes grew huge, and she flung herself backwards, one hand over her mouth and one wrapped around her stomach.

Artie wheeled himself back as well to give the others room to work, and Rachel staggered to his side. She was practically sitting on his lap as she pulled the hand from over her mouth and reached out, painfully gripping Artie's hand.

"Oh, God," she moaned. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!"

"Rachel!" Finn snapped at her as he clambered in after Puck. "Pull it together and call 911!"

Artie offered her his phone, as it was already out, and though he knew it was sick, he felt slightly comforted as her fingers shook also as she dialed.

" _911\. Where is your emergency?_ " 

"W-we're at McKinley High." Rachel closed her eyes, and Artie watched her try to calm down. He patted their linked hands with his free one. She opened her eyes again and gave him a watery smile. "We're in the back parking lot, by a dumpster."

" _What's the emergency?_ " 

"My friend. He's been…stabbed?" Her brow wrinkled. "He was thrown in the dumpster onto a h-huge piece of glass."

" _How deep is the wound?_ " 

"I-I don't know! It's all the way through him. It's s-sticking out of his chest."

" _It's okay, ma'am, you're doing fine. Is he conscious?_ " 

"I don't…I don't know. Finn?" She raised her voice. "Is he conscious?"

"Not really," Finn called back. "His eyes are rolling around, and he's making those sounds still."

"He's awake, but he's not…he's—"

" _He's awake, but non-responsive?_ " 

"Yes!" Rachel nodded, relieved that somebody had the correct words to work with.

" _Is he still breathing?_ " 

"Finn, is he still breathing?"

"Yeah, he's breathing."

"It's getting worse, though." Puck's voice came floating out of the dumpster, echoing and sounding far away. "He's wheezing. I think the glass clipped a lung or something."

"Oh, God," Rachel whispered.

" _Ma'am? Is he breathing?_ " 

"Oh! Um, yes. He's wheezing though. P-Puck thinks the glass got his lungs."

" _Okay, ma'am. I've dispatched the paramedics; they'll be there inside of five minutes. Now, until then, you need to put pressure on the wound._ " 

"Pressure?" Rachel's voice ran high and scared. "B-but how? Should they pull him off of the glass?

" _No! Absolutely not. Do not remove the object. Put pressure around the edges of the wound. And keep listening for his breathing. Take his pulse if you can._ " 

"Okay. Guys? Don't pull the glass out!"

"What the hell?" Finn's disbelieving voice.

"She said don't pull it out, just put pressure on it!" 

Artie could tell Finn was just about to lose it and sure enough a moment later, "How the fuck…Christ, Puck…I don't know…what do we do?"

"Finn!" Puck's voice was like the crack of a whip. "Pull it the fuck together." Artie heard something ripping.

"Oh, God…" Finn sounded like he was on the verge of vomiting.

"Hold this right here." 

"But—"

"No goddamn questions, Hudson! Hold this here. Press as hard as you can."

Artie could hear the wail of a siren in the distance. Less than a minute later, the ambulance screeched into the back lot of McKinley, lights flashing. The paramedics rolled out of the cab at a run.

The first medic threw open the doors and yanked out a stretcher, while the second medic climbed up and into an already full dumpster. "I need one of you to get out," he said abruptly.

"But—"

"Finn, I got it. I can hold it. Just get out," Puck ordered, sounding by far calmer than Finn. Finn reluctantly hauled himself up and out of the dumpster. Artie saw the blood coating his hands and shirt and felt light-headed. If there was that much on Finn, then how much did Kurt have left in him?

Artie heard the medic ask, "Hey, buddy? Can you hear me?" Then, louder, "Justin, patient is non-responsive. We'll need to bag him." Justin tossed a medical bag on the stretcher and ran it up next to the dumpster. He pulled a mask out and handed it down.

"Got some vitals for me, Ian?" Justin called out as he turned to dig through the bag again.

"High and thready. Respiration is increasing." Justin pulled out more bags and dropped them down into the dumpster. Artie heard the sound of ripping cloth again.

"What's your name, son?" Ian asked, his voice resonating slightly. 

"Puck. This is Kurt." Artie had no idea how Puck wasn't freaking out, but his voice was calm and measured.

"All right, Puck. I don't particularly want to do this, but we're going to have to trade direct pressure for being able to see how he's impaled. I'm going to need you to hold him up just enough to let me see the base of this shard."

"Want me to pull him off it?" Puck asked.

"No. We'll be taking it with us. I just need to know if I have to break it off or if the impact snapped it off for us."

There was a shuffling and crunching, then a grunt.

"Good! That's perfect. Just hold him there. Let me know if you can't hold him up any longer."

"I won't drop him." Puck's voice was confident, rather than stoic, now. 

"Good…good…all right," Ian muttered, and then he called out, "Justin! It's snapped clean from the base, but he's gonna have to be transported on his side."

"Got it," Justin called back, and locked the brakes on the stretcher. "Ready when you are."

"Okay, Puck," Ian said. "I don't want to irritate the wound more than I have to, so since you've already got him, can you lift him up and over onto the stretcher?"

"I won't drop him," Puck repeated firmly.

"All right. He's got to go on the stretcher on his _right side._ "

There was more glass crunching, and then Puck appeared over the top of the dumpster holding Kurt's limp body under his shoulders and knees. Puck clenched and bared his teeth in a grimace as he heaved Kurt as gently as possible over the lip of the dumpster and onto the stretcher. Justin waited to roll Kurt onto his right side. 

Ian scrambled out of the dumpster, carrying the yet unused oxygen mask. Artie watched, horrified and amazed as the two paramedics worked in tandem. They began giving him oxygen, hooking up the IV and a dozen other inexplicable things Artie had only seen on TV.

He heard the scuff of boots and a dull metallic thud, and turned to see Puck vault to the ground. He looked like something out of a nightmare. Blood soaked his shirt from neck to navel. His arms were coated in red, and he had a smear on his chin where he must have wiped his face.

Puck watched the medics work. They injected syringe after syringe into the IV tube, attempted to put pressure on both the back and front of the wound, and continued to pump the oxygen bag, all the while attempting to wrap the shard up in gauze and bandages.

They were in so many places at once that Artie thought they must have had more than two arms apiece. But, even he saw the problem. One of them had to drive. Then Puck stepped forward and took the mask out of Ian's hands, taking over the rhythmic pumping. The medic frowned, but Puck ignored him. He waved his free hand at the medic.

"Where do you need it?"

Ian nodded once and grabbed Puck's hand, placing it where he wanted it. "Hold. Tight. I'm gonna wrap around you." The two medics continued to perform a million tasks, working faster now that Puck had two of them in hand.

"Okay, we're good. Let's go," Justin said, unlocking the stretcher brakes. 

Ian eyed Puck on more time, and then jerked his head at the stretcher. "Climb on," he ordered. "Don't take the pressure off. We'll lift you both."

Puck awkwardly clambered up on the stretcher, somehow using only his legs and a steadying hand from Ian. He straddled Kurt's form as the medics rolled them to the ambulance. The medics heaved the stretcher up into the back and Ian climbed in after it. The last thing Artie saw before Justin closed and locked the door was Puck's determined face staring down into Kurt's.

Puck, Finn, Mike and Matt's frantic sprint across campus had caught several others' attention. The sirens and lights drew those that hadn't seen the boys. Finn used Artie's chair like a battering ram, knocking gawking teens out of the way. Matt and Mike flanked then, doing much the same with their linebacker shoulders. 

Rachel followed in the wake left behind them, frantically talking on her cell to someone. Artie could only assume it was Mercedes, because a moment later, Kurt's black SUV barreled around the corner. Tina was at the wheel and Mercedes in the passenger seat still on the phone to Rachel. She snapped the phone shut and leaned out the window. "Get in!" she demanded.

Artie felt his stomach sink. Once again, he would be the problem. So, he was surprised to realize Finn wasn't stopping. Finn spun him around so fast that his left wheel came up off of the ground. Rachel threw open the side door as Finn bent down and pushed his arms under Artie's legs and behind his back. 

"Grab my neck," he ordered, hefting Artie up in a parody of Puck lifting Kurt. In what looked like one of their choreographed routines, Finn placed Artie in the back seat while Rachel expertly broke his chair down flat and handed it off to Mike. Finn slammed the door and followed Rachel around the vehicle to the other side. They jumped into the backseat as Matt flung the back hatch up. Mike tossed the chair in, and he and Matt climbed in after it, crouching on the floor. Finn glanced behind him to make sure the other two boys were in, then slapped the back of Tina's seat and yelled, "Go, go, go!" Tina took off in a peal of tires. 

For the first time since he'd heard Kurt's shriek—was it hours ago, or just minutes?—Artie felt the trickle of tears down his cheek. 

Finn latched onto Rachel with one hand and slung his other arm protectively around Artie's shoulder. Rachel reached over Finn lap to lend her strength as well. Then Artie felt pressure on his back; he glanced behind him. Mike's worried face stared out the windshield, but his hand rested on Artie's shoulder. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matt place a hand on Rachel's shoulder and then bow his head. Artie faced forward again and found Mercedes' concerned brown eyes fixed on him. She offered a hand as well, and then placed her other on Tina's leg. Tina shot her a watery smile.

Uncomfortable as the positions might have been, they continued to hold onto each other in a frightened mass, offering each other what small comfort they could generate. As they blew through lights and stop signs, their only thought was to reach the hospital. And Kurt.

They screeched to a halt in the hospital parking lot and poured out of the vehicle as though it were a clown car. Rachel restored his chair as quickly as she'd broken it down, and then Finn was once again in charge of pushing him. They stormed the front entrance as a group, but Rachel broke off to question the woman at the front desk. 

Mercedes pulled out her phone and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Mr. Hummel? It's Mercedes," she choked out. She cleared her throat and tried again. "It's about Kurt. He's been injured. He's in the emergency room. It's…it's bad. You need to get here right now." She paused for a moment and then heaved a huge sigh. "He dropped the phone," she whispered, "but I heard the door slam. He's on his way."

They sat in silence, staring at the floor, until Rachel came back from the front desk. "The nurse says there's a waiting area down in the emergency room. It's closer," she said quietly. En masse, they followed Rachel down the hall to the other waiting room. Rachel let out a small cry as they drew closer. "Puck!"

Puck sat, head in his hands, in one of the ugly, russet brown chairs. At his name, his head slowly came up. He stood to meet them and Tina and Mercedes gasped when they saw the state of his clothes.

PUCK

Puck saw the horrified looks on the girls' faces and realized that they hadn't been there to see Kurt pulled out. This was their first impression of how bad it was. And it looked really bad.

He'd held the pressure on the bandages until he'd gotten a cramp in his left forearm; but he hadn't let go. He felt like he'd already bathed in Kurt's blood, and he wasn't willing to let spill one single drop more. 

When they'd pulled up, siren screaming, to the emergency room, half a dozen people spilled out of the building. He was summarily moved out of the way to allow the qualified people to take over. He let them push him to the back of the vehicle, trying to stay out of everyone's way, even though he desperately wanted to reach out and reconnect with some tiny part of Kurt's body.

He'd held Kurt for what seemed like hours. He'd had his hands on and terrifyingly _in_ him at some points from nearly the first moment he'd seen him. He'd watched Kurt's eyes lose focus; heard his breath begin to rattle in his throat. Turning loose of him now…it was like failing. The act of handing him over into the care of someone else, regardless of ability, gave Puck a painfully bereft feeling.

He waited until everyone had raced Kurt out of sight through the emergency doors, and then he slowly climbed down from the ambulance and followed them in. He didn't bother talking to anyone. He knew that even if Kurt took a turn for the worse, no one would tell him. He wasn't family, just some blood-covered kid with strong arms and a guilty conscience.

So, he found a seat in the adjacent waiting room and dropped his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and fought back the tears with as much vigor as he'd fought to keep Kurt alive. Now, those tears threatened again as he stared across the expanse of the waiting room at part of his shattered little family. His face screwed up, physically trying to hold the tears back even as his mental will failed.

He closed his eyes, and so he had no clue who slammed into him and flung their arms around him. Or who pulled his face down into their neck. Or who patted him on the back as he began to shake. He was too grateful to care.

Eventually, they broke apart and found seats all over the room to wait in silent vigil. When Burt Hummel burst through the emergency room doors, everyone froze. Burt made a beeline to the nurse's desk and grilled her briefly before scrabbling in his back pocket and yanking out his wallet. He threw down some cards and snatched up the clipboard the nurse handed him.

When he turned around, he found eight unknown sets of eyes completely focused on him. Mercedes stood up and Puck could see the recognition in Burt's face. "What happened?" he demanded hoarsely. "They that he's in surgery and there's no word on his condition yet."

Mercedes opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Tears fell from her eyes and she lifted her hands up to cover her face. Rachel jumped up and put an arm around her, leading Mercedes off to sit a few seats down.

Artie briefly considered a hysterical breakdown himself, but then rolled up to Burt who was looking more panicked by the second. "Mr. Hummel. I-I'm Artie," he began. "Three jocks caught us alone and threw Kurt into the dumpster again—"

"Again?" Burt interrupted, his fury painted all over his face.

"Yeah. Yes, sir. It's…something they do. A lot." Artie stared down at his hands. "They picked him up and tossed him in. I guess they didn't know…I really _hope_ they didn't know that there was a bunch of broken glass in it. 

I think it was the old window the contractors replaced in the science room. Kurt…Kurt l-landed on it. It…it went…all the way through him." Artie peered up through his glasses. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Kurt wouldn't…he wouldn't let them throw me. He told them to…to…"

Burt lifted his hand and Artie flinched a tiny bit before it landed heavily on his shoulder. "Not your fault, son," he said. Burt heaved a huge sigh and dropped into a chair across from Puck. He stared at him for a moment before jerking upright. "Is that from…?" He trailed off and gestured vaguely at the blood smeared Puck.

Puck flushed and stood up quickly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel. I didn't think. I'm gonna go get cleaned up."

"Did you…did you help my son?" Burt's question stopped Puck in his tracks.

Puck lifted his hand to run it over his head, but caught himself at the last second and hastily shoved his hand into his pocket. "Not enough," he said, refusing to meet Burt's eyes.

He heard rustling and then a blue and white flannel shirt appeared under his nose. He glanced up to see Burt pressing his lips together hard enough that they turned white. Puck took the shirt in wary confusion.

"You'll need something to change into," Burt said brusquely, the set of his chin telling Puck that this wasn't an arguable point. So, Puck nodded.

"Thanks," he said quietly. And he disappeared around the corner. Puck found the Men's room and ducked in quickly. He turned the water on and let it heat up for a moment. While he waited, his eyes drifted up to the mirror in front of him. When he caught sight of himself, he flinched. Fucking hell. He ripped his shirt off and shoved it in the garbage. Even if, by some miracle of God, he could salvage it, he never wanted to see it again. 

The water finally hot enough, he pulled out handfuls of paper towels and soaked them in water and soap; then he set to scrubbing. The bottom of the sink ran pink for a long time. He couldn't do anything about his jeans, but Burt's shirt went a long way toward covering that up.

He caught a whiff of something familiar; something that made his gut clench. He lifted his arm to his nose and, closing his eyes, took a deep breath. Laundry soap, obviously the kind Kurt used as well, because it smelled just like him. Puck used the moment to brush the soft flannel over his stinging eyes.

He made sure the room didn't look like a serial killer had been at work, and he left. He didn't go back to the emergency waiting room with the others, though. As much as he wanted to know what was happening with Kurt, he didn't want to spend another moment sitting across from Burt Hummel. 

He couldn't stand the man looking at him as if he were some kind of…friend, or something, when Puck well knew that, less than a year ago, it would have been four jocks throwing Kurt in. Puck wanted to think that he would have done the right thing and stayed until help arrived, but he had no idea if that were true. And, because of that, he hated himself.

He stopped in another waiting room somewhere between the bathroom and the emergency room and collapsed into the hospital's chair, this time a disgusting shade of olive green. He let his head fall into his hands again and he just sat in silence.

Someone pointedly cleared their throat. Puck knew it wasn't a doctor with information about Kurt. Hell, they'd hardly tell Burt anything and he was Kurt's father. One of the Gleeks would have just called his name. Curiosity eventually drove his head up. It was the medic, Ian.

He just stood, smiling and rocking back on his heels. Puck nodded vaguely at the chair next to him. Ian sat and promptly leaned toward Puck to hold his hand out. "Hey. Ian, remember?"

Puck automatically took the hand offered to him. "Yeah," he replied.

"You did really well out there, today." Ian leaned back in the chair. 

Puck snorted. "Thanks."

"You interested in going into medicine?" Ian continued.

Puck looked at Ian out of the corner of his eye and smirked half-heartedly. "Oh, yeah. Princeton's just begging to get hold of my 1.00 G.P.A."

Ian shrugged. "Doctors aren't the only medical profession, you know."

"So, I'm too dumb for a doctor, but I could still be a paramedic like you?" Puck realized he was being an ass, but he didn't have the strength left in him to curb himself.

Ian didn't seem to pay attention to Puck's tone. He just shrugged again. "Why not?"

Puck sighed. "I don't know a damned thing about fixing other people. I haven't even had a First Aid class. Hell, I flunked Health."

Ian grinned. "I dropped out in the 10th grade." Puck's eyes widened. "I spent nearly six months in juvy for a rash of break-ins."

"So, how'd you get from Juvenile Hall to paramedic?" Puck asked.

"Well, as I'm sure you know, not doing well in school doesn't necessarily mean you're stupid." Ian eyed Puck until Puck flushed. "Hmmm. I thought so." Ian grinned. "I got into it a lot like you just did, actually. I made some friends in juvy. One of those friends was a girl named Marie. She was something else." Ian chuckled. "She'd had a pretty bad home life. Her step-dad raped her. Her mom accused her of seducing him. So, Marie decided to smash his face in with a baseball bat rather than let him touch her again."

"Good for her," Puck interjected, frowning. Ian acknowledged him with a sad smile.

"Not so much. They tossed her into juvy. Then, she found out she was pregnant."

Puck winced. "His?"

"Yeah. She'd almost had her mind wrapped around the whole situation, when they told her they were releasing her back into her mom's custody. And her mom was still with the step-dad."

"Fuck," Puck said quietly.

Ian nodded. "Fuck, indeed, my friend. It was too much for her. So, one day I knocked on her door for breakfast and no one answered. When I finally found someone to open the door, it was too late. I just didn't know it, yet. She'd kept one of those plastic knives they hand out at dinner; sharpened it until it was...Let's just say she had very little trouble cutting into her carotid artery."

Puck closed his eyes. 

"She was dead when we found her, but I was 15. What the hell did I know? They were always bringing people back on TV, right?" Ian smirked wryly. "So, I spent 20 minutes trying to do some half-assed CPR on her already cold body. When the ambulance arrived, they had to pull me off her. The juvy officers had to pin me to the floor while the EMTs loaded her onto the stretcher."

"Fucking hell," Puck breathed, rubbing his hand over his face.

"I never wanted to feel that helpless again. So, I got out, got my GED and applied for EMT training. And here I am." Puck had no idea what to say to any of that, so he just sat quietly. It didn't seem to bother Ian, though; for long minutes, they sat together in silence.

"So, is Kurt your boyfriend?" The sudden sound startled Puck as much as the question.

"My what?" he asked, incredulously. "No! God, no. I don't even think we're friends."

"Ah," Ian smiled knowingly. "One of those relationships."

"What?" Puck asked again. "One of what relationships? And there's no relationship!"

Ian chuckled. "You may not have one yet, but you will. Saving someone's life is a pretty powerful thing. It overcomes a lot of prejudices. On both sides." He stood up, abruptly. "It was good to meet you, Puck." He gave Puck a healthy pat on the shoulder. "If you decide to take that First Aid class, look me up." He slipped a card into Puck's hand and walked away.

When Puck had given up trying to wrap his brain around the conversation he'd just had, he slowly made his way back to the emergency room waiting area. He unobtrusively took a seat in the furthest corner from the group of Gleeks huddled around Burt Hummel, and he settled down to wait.

He must have dozed off because he certainly wasn't prepared for the wave of excited voices that rolled over him. He sat up, blinking furiously and confused. Finn caught sight of him and, for the first time in weeks, bestowed one of his brilliant smiles on Puck. He waved Puck over, holding his arm out patiently, wordlessly telling Puck that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Puck pushed himself out of the chair and warily approached. Finn threw his arm around Puck's neck and pulled him in for a bear hug. "He's gonna be okay," Finn said over the joyful tears and laughter. 

They waited another six hours before the doctors would allow anyone in to see him. By that time, Britt, Quinn and Santana had arrived with food for everyone and a change of clothes for Puck and Finn. Puck was relieved to change into clean clothes, but as he stared in the mirror at himself, he felt something off. On a whim, he pulled Burt's flannel shirt back on over his own tee. The soft flannel on his skin settled something in him.

When they were finally let in to see Kurt, Puck stood back with the others as they pushed Burt in first. But when the others crowded into one another in a rush to get in the door, he still didn't move. One by one, the Gleeks touched or kissed Kurt, every hand on him a reassurance that he was alive. 

Artie cried, hunched over Kurt's hand. With a tiny 'shush' and a weak smile, Kurt sorted him out. Kurt had begun getting sleepy by the eighth concerned Gleek, and by the time Puck slipped in as Mike gave Kurt's hand another pat, Kurt had fallen asleep completely. Just as well, Puck had no idea what the hell he would have said anyway. He turned to leave after a brief nod to Burt, who was sitting next to his son, holding his hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" Burt demanded roughly.

Puck frowned. "He's asleep. I'm not waking him up just to say 'hey'."

Burt humphed and turned to the duty nurse. "We need a second chair, please," he said. The nurse began to protest, but the words died on her lips at Burt's expression and though she looked as though she were sucking a lemon, she moved to the door. 

Puck could see the others' faces as the nurse opened it. Where Puck thought he'd see anger or recriminations, he saw only understanding. Where he expected loud protests against his staying in the room with Kurt, he heard only demands to make sure Kurt knew they loved him. The nurse brought the second chair and Burt set it on the other side of the bed before retaking his place at Kurt's side.

Puck sat down hesitantly and glanced at Burt. The older man was staring at his son's face; the absolute love there for all to see. Puck let his hand creep into Kurt's and linked their fingers together. That bereft feeling he'd had since they all but dragged Kurt from his hands hours ago melted away. He sighed in quiet relief.

The silence moved from awkward to comfortable the longer they sat flanking Kurt's bed. It wasn't long before Burt finally succumbed to exhaustion and rested his head on the bed, falling quickly asleep.

Puck stared at the two Hummel men, wondering what the hell he was doing here with them. Wondering why Burt would single him out from amongst all the other concerned, loving friends that had poured into the room. He let his gaze rest on father and son's linked hands and was surprised when fatherless jealously wasn't the first thing he felt. Instead a warm, satisfied feeling drifted through him, lighting up parts of him he didn't even remember having.

He glanced at Kurt's pale hand intertwined with his own darker one, and he smiled. With a rueful, nearly silent laugh, he reached into his pocket with his free hand. He pulled out his cell and set it on the bedside, then pulled out an already bent and wrinkled business card.

And he dialed.


End file.
